


A Conversation Between Meg and Castiel

by MemoryCrow



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angels and Demons, F/M, Frenemy, Gen, Miscommunication, The Word as a shield, Weird Talk, bible sensuality, flirtation, kind of funny, kind of peculiar, new swear words, song of solomon, strange and puzzling boner
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-20
Updated: 2017-05-20
Packaged: 2018-11-02 23:50:54
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,096
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10955313
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MemoryCrow/pseuds/MemoryCrow
Summary: Meg discusses a part of The Bible with Castiel; Castiel learns a new swear word.





	A Conversation Between Meg and Castiel

Meg Said, “’ _By night on my bed, I sought him whom my soul loveth: I sought him, but I found him not_.’”

Normally her voice dripped with sarcasm. Nothing fell from her lips that wasn’t bored unto death with humanity, sardonic, mildly threatening or thick with unpleasant innuendo. Vile syrup; it was her way. For an abomination, she was much like a bitchy and controlling adolescent girl. From what Castiel had observed, such girls were surprisingly close in nature to demons. Especially when they ran in packs.

… But now her voice was soft… and strange. She smiled at Castiel, and her lipstick was the deep red of Valentine’s Day roses. Her hair was sloe-black and her skin pale… she was the beauty that persists within a crystal coffin; a preserved and darkly iridescent butterfly. She carried the slightest whiff of Hell.

Clearly, she was doing evil. Castiel gave her an appraising and dark scowl. _Begone, vixen witch_ , he thought.

“What’s the matter, Castiel? Don’t you recognize your Father’s more sensual works?”

His head tilted. What ploy was this? And, no. The words that tumbled from her in a soft purr were not remotely familiar. The Father he knew was one of Thou Shalts and Shalt Nots. Dean often paraphrased Him, saying things like, “Lo! I am mightily pissethed and shall smite thine ass in the fullness of time! Meanwhile, handeth me that doughnut.” Castiel found the impression to be wholly believable.

Still smiling, her eyes seeming to look into Castiel and poke fun at what she saw there, Meg toyed with her hair. Castiel’s eyes tracked her fingers, wary. And yet, a peculiar feeling came over him, his eyes traveling from red lips to pale fingers. To a spillage of dark hair. It looked soft, like sable, and his fingers gave an involuntary twitch.

She said, “’ _Let him kiss me with the kisses of his mouth: for thy love is better than wine_.’”

Castiel balked. “Those are _not_ the words of my Father.” If they were… could Meg even speak them, without pain or discomfort?

Meg shifted her languid position, and, in doing so, pushed out breasts that Castiel had previously overlooked. Their sudden rounding beneath a dark t-shirt was startling. A hardening of nipples drew his eyes, like small targets, and he felt very confused.

“Maybe they’re not _His_ words,” she allowed. “but they’re in _His_ book. The Big Book of _Him_ , that’s scraped together from about a zillion different parts and periods of time. Many parts of which are conveniently considered ‘not canon’, and have been left out… But turn up now and again, like embarrassing photos taken at a drunken party. You gotta wonder what the archbishops and such were thinking, keeping this bit in.”

“Show me.” Castiel said.

Meg took on a look of distaste, a slight curl of the upper lip that was almost as disconcerting as her nipples, which knew no shame. “Well, how about I let you handle the Big, Bad Book, Cas. You’re looking for the Song of Solomon.”

A bit loathe to look away from her, Castiel retrieved a bible and flipped through tissue-thin, gold edged paper. It smelled funny… like moth wings and monitor screens. He found the passage, and his eyes darted over the words, becoming stormy. He didn’t have words for what he felt.

… _Comfort me with apples, for I am sick of love._

He’d understood that God would not always strive with man. God was separate, as angels were separate; beyond such yearnings and passions. Which, when all was said and done, maelstroms of emotions and chemicals, meant nothing. Of course, Meg would glom onto this passage. She rolled in the dust with others of her kind, even more base than humans.

And yet, here was impassioned poetry, not devoted to God or his Vessel, but from one human to another. In his Father’s book. The Word.

Castiel _felt_ the Word, and he thought of Dean saying he would _take_ the pain of life. He’d caught and held Castiel’s eyes, and said he’d _take_ it.

“Castiel…” Meg was clearly curious about him. The subtleties and quirks of her body were becoming a little easier to read, now that the words she’d spoken were in his hands. He looked at her. In the big palms of his hands, the Word throbbed. “Do you feel _anything_?” she asked.

Stupid demon. They always thought they were the sponges of the world, feeling all. While angels, encased in light and energy, felt nothing.

Castiel felt _everything_. He didn’t always understand, but he _felt_.

Wanting, an irrational want, to be rude to the demon, he checked in with his vessel. He thought of the way Dean often summarized; neat and succinct. He said, “Meg. My penis has become firm and erect. Is that what you mean?”

He’d read her correctly; that’s exactly what she meant. After a shocked little fit of coughing, her smile grew wide and delight sparkled in her eyes. It was fetching, and Castiel backed away a step. Meg wrinkled her nose.

“Oh… my. But don’t say ‘penis’.”

“Why not?” It surprised him, that she might take offense. Castiel imagined that she might collect penises and keep them in a cooler… for outdoor grilling.

She said, “It’s just… I don’t know. Pretend it’s a swear word. Trust me, there are better words for it.”

Castiel puzzled over that, thinking of the liberal use Dean and Sam made of the word ‘dick’. It was typically spoken in insult.

Meg rose and began to approach, sly and serpent-like. Castiel protected his penis from the abomination with the Word of God. He used it as a shield.

“Oh, fine.” Meg sighed, seeing that he would go no further than speaking of the state of his body. She lost interest and wandered away. Castiel sat down and read the Song of Solomon from start to finish, mystified. What else had he missed… taken on _faith_?

Later, walking outside with Dean, he tripped. He _never_ tripped. It just didn’t happen; in Dean’s words, he was “chock full o’Grace”. Maybe it was the shock of not knowing a part of his Father; the shock delivered by a demon, no less. Maybe it was that the words he’d read swam in his head, and he kept thinking of Dean… keeping is world going by sheer force of will, free will; accepting pain as the price.

He tripped, stumbled a bit and then righted himself, aware of Dean’s surprise. Dean’s expression became very surprised, indeed, when Castiel swore softly, under his breath.

“ _Penis.”_


End file.
